


a million lights are dancing, and there you are (a shooting star)

by lotts (LottieAnna)



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Not Hockey Player(s), I TOOK A HOCKEY TEAM AND MADE THEM THEATER KIDS AND I WOULD LIKE TO THANK THE MODS FOR ENABLING THAT, M/M, Musicals, Xanadu References, roller skates, tyson barrie continues to be my favorite self-insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-25 20:20:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16204952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LottieAnna/pseuds/lotts
Summary: Tyson doesn’t have many problems in his life.The main one right now is that he has really terrible taste in friends, and somehow ended up joining the world’s weirdest beer league team that occasionally moonlights as a theater troupe whenever Tyson Barrie watches too many Olivia Newton-John movies in one weekend then gets wine drunk and orders 6 pairs of rollerskates, and Nathan MacKinnon, instead of responding to that in a normal way and encouraging him to return the rollerskates, goes ahead and books a performance space.





	a million lights are dancing, and there you are (a shooting star)

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [Springsteen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Springsteen/pseuds/Springsteen) in the [boysarehot](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/boysarehot) collection. 



> IF YOU FOUND THIS THROUGH GOOGLING, KNOW ANYONE MENTIONED IN THIS STORY PERSONALLY, OR ARE MENTIONED YOURSELF: please, please click away. This is a work of fiction and nothing written in this story is true. Any accurate information used in this story is publicly available information about public figures, the rest is made up, 100%. Please keep this work confined to fan spaces and away from the eyes of the people mentioned herein!
> 
>  **prompt:** theatre au. these boys are all so dramatic someone put them on a stage, i don't care if it's drama club or community theatre or what. open to whatever pairing(s) or lack of pairings, if you just want to write about all the avs struggling to put on some musical that's cool. or you can go full high school musical and have nate, star of the hockey team, audition for the school play as a dare and then get cast as the lead by gabe, the writer/director who inexplicably wears berets and turtlenecks for the entire fic. just. ridiculous theatre shenanigans.
> 
> thank you for this PROMPT and I'm sorry it took a few days longer than expected to finish this. shoutouts to the mods who ran this exchange, and to christa, ali, and rachel, who continue to be heroic friends and quality individuals. i had a lot of roadblocks that got in the way of this story being done, and a lot of self-doubt, but i tried to pack as much love and shenanigans as i could into one story, and that really kept me going! 
> 
> cw for heavy drinking at the cast party. title from "xanadu" by electric light orchestra + olivia newton-john. on xanadu: there's a movie, and there was also a broadway show ft. cheyenne jackson and kerry butler. neither was particularly successful. both of them are remarkable and transcendent works of media.

**_Overture_ **

Tyson doesn’t have many problems in his life. 

The main one right now is that he has really terrible taste in friends, and somehow ended up joining the world’s weirdest beer league team that occasionally moonlights as a theater troupe whenever Tyson Barrie watches too many Olivia Newton-John movies in one weekend then gets wine drunk and orders 6 pairs of rollerskates, and Nathan MacKinnon, instead of responding to that in a normal way and encouraging him to return the rollerskates, goes ahead and books a performance space. 

Also, Tyson sort of got roped into stage managing it, because he’d been kinda convinced it was the only way to get out of actually having to sing and dance and skate himself, but he’s starting to think he’d rather go onstage in short shorts belting out ELO than be responsible for a team of hockey players on wheels they don’t know how to use.   

“Please,” Tyson says over the phone. “I’m begging you. We  _ need _ a skating coach. Tyson might actually die without one.”

“Are you talking about yourself in the third person?” JT asks, amused.

“No, dickhead,” Tyson says. “There’s another Tyson whose life is at risk here, Compher. Mine might be too, but he’s—”

“Danger prone, I know,” JT finishes. “But— c’mon, man, you know I don’t want the guys knowing about that stuff.” 

“Desperate times call for desperate measures?” Tyson tries. 

“Not that desperate,” JT says. “Dude, you  _ know  _ these guys. If you ever want to hear a song that’s not disco again, they can never find out I worked at a roller rink.”

“What if we paid you?” Tyson says. 

“With what money?” 

“The show’s budget.” 

“There’s no budget,” JT says. “You’re a bunch of friends who are pulling a musical out of their asses— which is admirable, don’t get me wrong, but it’s not like you guys have money to spare to pay a real coach.” 

“Gabe is going to skate right off the stage and into Tyson’s arms, and they’re gonna topple into the audience, and then we’re gonna get sued and banned from beer league forever, and it’s gonna be all your fault.” 

“Can’t you have them sign waivers?” 

“Not the point,” Tyson says. “Nate and EJ keep fighting because Mikko gets freaked out about the twirls, and Yak’s all frowny about it, and we just— please? Pretty please?” 

JT’s quiet for a second. “Oh.” 

“What’s that ‘oh’ mean?” Tyson asks, jumping on what he’s pretty sure is a waver. 

“I—” JT sighs. “You realize you’d owe me big time, right?” 

“Of course,” Tyson says quickly, not caring about the cost for the moment. “Please, I’ll do anything, man. I mean, within reason, but— actually, no, even without reason. Anything.” 

“Jesus,” JT says, mildly horrified, but Josty’s pretty sure it’s a little fond, too. “Fine, I get invited to the cast party, and I get to show one of the guys that one video of you.” 

“Wait—”

“You said anything,” JT says, a little sing-song. 

Tyson sighs, but relents, because it’s a pretty fair tradeoff, all things considered— paying for humiliation, with humiliation. “Which guy?” 

“Nate?” JT says. 

“No way, not him first,” Tyson says. “What about Mikko?” 

“He’s too nice,” JT says. “Kerfy?” 

Kerfy will jump at the opportunity to show  _ everyone  _ that video, but he’ll at least make it a group viewing, and the first wave of chirps won’t be too pointed. 

“Okay, fine, show Kerfy,” Tyson says. “Come in tomorrow? There’s this whole dance we’re working on then.” 

“I signed up to be a skating coach, not a— dance-planner-thing, or whatever.” 

“We have a choreographer,” Tyson says. “We just need someone to interpret the choreography. Y’know, put it on wheels.” 

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” JT says. “Fine. Tomorrow.” 

Tyson pumps a fist in the air, because JT can’t see him, so he can’t make fun of him for his ridiculous celly. Not that Josty’s really capable of being too embarrassed about things at this point in his life, but still. “You’re my favorite,” he says. “My absolute favorite.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” JT says, and Tyson can tell he’s nothing but pleased.

 

**_Act I_ **

“Why do I have to learn to skate?” Tyson grumbles, probably for the billionth time, as he finishes lacing up. 

“Because,” JT says, looking way too amused for Tyson’s liking, “if they have an issue and I’m not around, you can help. Teach a man to fish—”

“Don’t turn this into a life lesson, the other Tyson can help them if they forget their choreography,” Tyson says. “You just want to watch me fall on my ass.” 

JT shrugs, and pointedly avoids denying that. If Tyson were the kind of person who felt rage, he suspects he’d feel some towards him right about now. “I haven’t been able to walk into a room without Nate playing something by the Bee Gees since you signed me up for this.” 

“I heard him play Earth, Wind, and Fire the other day,” Tyson says. 

“Whatever,” JT says. “You owe me.” 

“You have blackmail material!” 

“My price went up,” JT says. 

Tyson rolls his foot back and forth, reluctant. “That’s extortion, I’m pretty sure.” 

“Your entire production is copyright infringement, I figured we’d leave the law out of it,” JT says, holding out his hands. “Now, come on, on your feet.” 

“Aren’t you gonna put on skates?” 

“I’m the teacher, I don’t have to,” JT says. “Trust me, you’ll want me for balance. You’re probably gonna fall backwards a few times.” 

“I’ve spent weeks watching everyone I know fuck up on rollerskates, so I’m aware, thanks.” 

“Don’t be grumpy,” JT says. “It looks weird on you. Come on, you and I both know you’ll end up having a great time once you stop whining.” 

“Not if I end up in the hospital first,” Tyson says, but he relents and takes JT’s hands, lets himself be helped up. 

It’s weird, being so unused to the sensation. Tyson’s a hockey player, so he feels like he shouldn’t feel so off-kilter because he’s a few inches off the ground, but then again, blades feel different from wheels. Even inline skates feel more natural than this, the same distribution of weight on the four-in-a-row wheels, extending back past his heel and making it impossible to do anything but propel himself forward the way he knows how to. On these, it feels like his feet could end up flying out in front of him, and it’s not something he’s used to accounting for. 

“Hey,” JT says, squeezing Tyson’s hands a little. His voice is a little bit softer, more serious, like he can tell that Tyson’s sort of freaked out by the sensation. “You’ll catch on in a bit, I promise.” 

“Alright,” Tyson says, sort of dubious. 

“Seriously,” JT says, taking a large step back so that their arms are taut between them, pulling Tyson forward a little bit. “Just— feet pointed out, bend at the knee, and push off, okay? Like a little kid learning to skate.” 

Tyson does as he’s told, moving a few hesitant inches, until his chest is pressed against JT’s shoulder. It’s strange being taller than him, and even stranger having to lean on him, but Tyson figures that it’s better than falling over. 

“How’d I do?” Tyson says, ignoring how he feels weirdly disappointed when JT takes a small step back. 

“Good,” JT says. “Let’s try that a few more times, yeah?” 

Tyson isn’t sure why his hands are sweating a little, but JT apparently doesn’t think it’s weird, because he just grabs them again, and they repeat the process over and over, until Tyson feels absolutely sure that he won’t collapse the second he lets go of his hands, and even then, he does it a few more times holding on before putting a couple of feet between them. 

Once Tyson gets the hang of moving forward, the speed and ease follows quicker than he expects, and Tyson starts skating laps around the gym, wary of the bumps on the ground, and he only wipes out once, which he considers a pretty big accomplishment. 

“It’s always less of a learning curve for hockey players,” JT calls from the bench while he’s lacing up his own skates. “It’s a different kind of movement, but you’re already used to the weird center of gravity stuff.” 

“And we’re not afraid to fall,” Tyson says, skating over in long strides. It’s less fast than he’s used to, but graceful in a way ice skating isn’t. He kind of wants to get more used to testing out how to shift his weight on them, feels like there’s a lot of potential for movement you can’t get any other way. 

“That too,” JT says, standing up. 

JT skates effortlessly, pushing forward and switching direction at random, just because he can. Tyson stays put for a second so he can watch, and it’s just— kind of captivating, the way he moves with the precision and passion of someone who’s doing something they love. He’s looking at his feet at first, maybe readjusting to an old sensation, but it’s clear that he trusts his skates, and Tyson wonders if he just enjoys watching the ground move beneath him as he glides over it.

“Not cocky at all,” Tyson says, because he has to at least pretend he’s not impressed, even if JT totally doesn’t buy it, especially not when he looks up and sees what Tyson’s sure is a dumb, fond smile on his face. 

JT just shrugs, skates in a small circle and does some spinny thing with his hips that Tyson will probably think about for the rest of his life. “There’s a reason I worked at a roller rink,” he says. “Skating’s fun.” 

“Can’t believe you didn’t want to teach us,” Tyson says, because he really can’t. 

“I don’t really do it that much anymore,” JT says. “It’s kind of a dumb hobby, y’know.” 

Tyson doesn’t think it’s dumb, or at least, not any dumber than anything the guys do on a daily basis—or anything Tys and Nate do ever—but he thinks he gets it. He wouldn’t want to be chirped for something like this, either, not without the chance to show off a little. 

“It’s a shame disco died,” Tyson says, instead of any of that. “Let’s pump some ELO, show me that choreography.” 

“Thought there was another Tyson for that,” JT says. 

“Eh,” Tyson says. “I kind of want to learn to dance in these things.” 

JT grins, and Tyson grins back, and it’s just— 

It’s fun, is all. 

…… 

“So,” Tyson Barrie says, sitting down in the seat next to Josty. “I heard you got some private, one-on-one skating action with your pal this weekend.” 

Josty blinks. “Uh, maybe?” 

“There’s no maybe,” Nate says, taking the seat behind him. “Z saw you two in the gym on Sunday. He got photos.” 

“What is he, the world’s most niche paparazzi?” Josty says. “Or is he just stalking us? Next time he wants a picture, he should let me know, I’ll make sure he gets my good side.” 

“Cut the crap, you know that every side is your good side,” Barrie says. “It’s part of being a Tyson. We just would like to know what you were doing on a secret roller date with Comph.” 

“We weren’t— it wasn’t a  _ date,” _ Josty says, going a little red. “It was stuff for the show, dumbass.” 

“Z did report that there was a detectable Olivia Newton-John presence,” Nate says. 

“But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t a date,” Barrie says. “Show or not, he said you two were too busy flirting to even notice he was there for a minute—like, sixty literal seconds—before he just walked out.” 

“It wasn’t— we were just, like, skating, I don’t know. We got distracted.” 

“You got distracted gazing into each other’s eyes,” Nate says, crossing his arms. “Admit it, you were in Xana—” 

_ “Don’t _ finish that word,” Barrie says, cutting him off quickly. “We’re in the theater, we can’t say the name of our play.” 

“I’m pretty sure that’s just Macbeth,” Josty says, which earns him matching horrified looks from Nate and Tyson. He rolls his eyes. “What? This is already a shitshow, I doubt a little curse will change anything.” 

“Don’t try and distract us with talk of curses,” Barrie says. 

“I’m not trying to do anything,” Josty says. “You’re the ones talking out of your asses about not-dates while I’m over here trying to schedule an extra costume fitting for Landy.” 

“What, his forehead’s too big for a normal sweatband?” Barrie asks. 

“Nah, EJ decided his shorts have gotta be shorter,” Josty says, which elicits a pretty hilarious reaction that lands somewhere between helpless arousal and fury. Honestly, Tyson Barrie isn’t that hard to deal with, so long as you manage to catch his huge Gabe Landeskog problem off-guard.

“Just remember this is a family show,” Nate says, possibly because Tyson’s been rendered speechless. “We don’t want to expose our audience to anything indecent.” 

“I don’t think people coming to this show expect it to be anything close to decent,” Josty says, which is snappy enough that Nate and Tyson don’t bother him for the rest of rehearsal. 

…… 

The problem is, the intervention— it gets Josty thinking, kind of a lot, about JT, and what skating with him had been like, and also— 

Well. In the immortal words of a different Tyson: who doesn’t have extremely detailed fantasies about what it would be like to date their best friend, from time to time, or maybe even all the time?

There are worse fantasies to be constantly plagued by, honestly.

It’s like— it’s fun, almost. Tyson can handle having a crush on his best friend, because liking someone, for him, is just about really  _ liking  _ them, and liking to look at them, and spend time with them, and all that kind of crap. Having a crush on your best friend really is underrated, in Tyson’s opinion— friendship becomes even better than it already is, when you just feel so damn happy to be around someone else. 

Plus, as far as crushes go, JT is a pretty good one. He’s handsome as hell, and funny, and already likes Tyson an awful lot, and add in the fact that he’s not totally off-limits, he’s… maybe the best crush Tyson’s ever had, objectively speaking. Not that Tyson has terrible taste in men. Just— he tends to go for guys who are fun and exciting, maybe seem like an adventure, and that usually means they’re flakey or unavailable, or something. 

But whatever Tyson’s feeling about JT isn’t anything like that, because JT is always there, and he’s  _ fun.  _ Tyson’s never had feelings for someone else that were this fun before, because he usually has to be careful to not get too attached. He’s already attached going into this, though, so he figures he might as well go for broke and enjoy the fact that JT is fun to look at, especially when he’s rolling his eyes at something Tyson says and trying not to smile. 

There’s a chance that Tyson’s never liked someone this way because he’s just never liked someone this  _ much,  _ but he’s not letting himself worry about it, because he already has enough problems in his life, and also— 

He doesn’t want to get cocky, he really doesn’t, but he’s caught JT staring back at him once or twice, so he feels like he can afford to hope. Not enough to act on it, or anything, but enough to maybe fantasize about things without letting it get out of hand. 

Like, take rehearsal, for instance. Usually, Tyson would be spending his five minute break watching the seconds tick away on his phone’s timer, but right now, he’s watching some video on JT’s phone—some video of corgi puppies that’s exactly five minutes long—and really, that’s a much better timer. 

“Uh,” a voice says, rudely interrupting them and forcing Tyson to lift his head from where it’s leaned close to JT’s. It’s Gabe. “Isn’t break over?” 

“We have…” Tyson looks over at the screen. “30 seconds left.” 

“It’s been ten minutes,” Gabe says. 

“You guys kept pausing the video, remember?” Nate calls, looking a little smug. “Maybe stick to old-fashioned timers next time.” 

“Fuck off, MacKinnon,” Tyson yells back, rolling his eyes. “Whatever, fine, sorry. We’ll get back to it in a sec, okay? Call it a 15.” 

Gabe blinks. “Wh— are you okay?”

“We’re watching something,” Tyson says, shrugging, and then he turns to JT. “I mean, you said they were making progress, right?”

“Yeah, I mean, the choreographer’s not here, and I don’t think there’s much for me to do until he gets back,” JT says. 

“He lives right around the corner,” Nate says. “I could get him here in a bit. I’d just have to tell him we’re doing a costume fitting.” 

“Why a costume fitting?” Gabe asks. 

Nate raises his eyebrows, bites his lip, and then shrugs. “He might pick up coffee, too.” 

“Coffee sounds good,” Josty says, shrugging. “Wanna work on— I dunno, blocking or something? Just until he gets here.” 

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say ‘whatever’ in rehearsal,” Gabe says. “What’s going on? Are you okay?” 

“What?” Tyson says, furrowing his brow. “We’re ahead of schedule, I don’t have every second of every rehearsal planned out.” 

“Really?” Gabe says. 

Tyson’s about to retort, but Nate beats him to it. “He’s just feeling more relaxed these days because we have a skating coach.” 

“Oh,” Gabe says, like that somehow makes sense, and Tyson feels his face go hot.

“I’m not slacking off, or something. We can just have a longer break,” he says.

“Plus, we’re watching a really important video,” JT says, waving his phone around.

“Exactly,” Tyson says. “Anyway, it’s a skating rehearsal, it’s not like I have to take line notes.” 

“Looks like you’re paying awfully close attention for someone who doesn’t have to,” Nate says, and Tyson is four seconds from tearing the cover off his script and throwing it at him, but decides against it. 

“Whatever,” Tyson says, turning away from him and refocusing on the corgi video. “Tell Barrie to get me a latte, make sure he brings those little plug things so we don’t spill everywhere.” 

“Got it,” Nate says, and Tyson tries to ignore the way his palms are sweating a bit as he presses play on the video again, because— 

He just feels… called out? Sort of? And he’s not even sure why, because it’s not like Nate knows anything that everyone else doesn’t, but still. Tyson hadn’t exactly realized that he was acting differently, now that JT is here and part of this whole thing, and now that he thinks about it, he definitely is.

Sure, part of that is because JT makes his life easier, is actually teaching Gabe and Mikko how to skate, which means that Tyson’s not the only one in the room taking this seriously, but part of it is also— 

It’s more fun, now, and Tyson cares even more than he did before about this stupid show, but he feels less stressed about it. Things are starting to come together, and it’s just his friends and bad music, and everyone’s on rollerskates. It doesn’t feel like some pointless project he’s putting too much time into, it feels like— 

Doing something he likes. Spending time with people he likes. 

Spending lots of time with one person he likes a lot. 

Maybe this play wasn’t the worst idea in the world after all. 

…… 

Tyson should have seen this coming. 

Things have been going way too smoothly for the last few weeks, with no embarrassing spills, no dangerous falls, and a suspicious lack of chirping. It’s like karma was holding off on reminding Tyson that his life is doomed to be a mess that he’s always going to be scrambling to fix, and now it’s dumping all this built-up shitty luck on him right fucking now, four hours before curtain.

“Gabe broke his leg,” Kerfy is saying over the phone. “I went over there to check it out, and it’s like— it’s  _ really  _ bad, man.” 

“Fuck,” Tyson says. “Where’s Nate? What’s he thinking? Why are you the one calling me?” 

“Well, that’s the thing,” Kerfy says. “I haven’t talked to Nate, but I was thinking, like— you know that video?” 

“Video?” Tyson says. 

“The one that Comph showed me,” Kerfy says. “A few weeks ago? I mean, Gabe and Mikko were planning a screening of it tonight— didn’t they tell you?” 

Tyson shouldn’t be surprised by anything his friends do anymore, really. “What’s that have to do with anything?” 

“You were… singing,” Kerfy says. 

“So?” he asks, but the word is barely out of his mouth before he realizes where this is going. “No—” 

“Do you wanna deal with whatever Nate’s gonna do if we don’t find an understudy?” Kerfy says. “You have a nice voice, Josty.” 

“Absolutely not.” 

“And you can skate—” 

“Passably, not well enough to—” 

“And Comph and I think it’s really the best alternative,” Kerfy finishes. 

Tyson doesn’t have a comeback for that one, so he just opens his mouth, closes it, then, to his horror, feels resignment set in. “JT’s there?” 

“Uh, yeah,” Kerfy says. “Do you wanna talk to—”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Tyson says. 

“Okay?” 

“Okay.” 

A beat, and then Kerfy says, “So?” 

Tyson sighs, rubs a hand over his face, and closes his eyes, because he can’t believe what he’s about to say. “Fine.” 

“Fine, like—”

“I’ll do it,” Tyson says, gritting his teeth. The only thing that stops him from going  _ psych!  _ is the knowledge that JT is probably smiling, which makes him feel almost okay with the inevitable shitshow he’s about star in. “I’ll call EJ about the costume, tell Nate to meet me at the theater so we can go over stuff. I know most of the lines and blocking, but— skates.” 

“Right,” Kerfy says. “Okay, well, good lu—” 

“Do  _ not  _ say those words,” Tyson says. “Right now, the only thing I wanna hear is ‘break a leg’, got it?” 

“Got it,” Kerfy says. “We’ll meet you at the theater.” 

“See you in a few,” Tyson says, and then he hangs up and doesn’t let himself think before preparing for the sheer chaos and nonsense that the rest of his day promises to be. 

**_End Act I_ **

 

**_Act II_ **

During curtain call, Tyson decides to keep the shorts on for the cast party, because he doesn’t really have an acceptable change of clothes. It might also have something to do with the fact that he looks pretty good in these shorts, but he’s not gonna admit that part out loud, and anyway, EJ’s already been giving him shit for it, so he’s committed to denying it publicly. 

After they’re done bowing, Nate and other-Tyson step out onstage and tell the audience—who Tyson unfortunately can’t see, because of the stage lights—to quiet down, and once they do, Nate starts to speak. 

“Hey, everyone, I’m Nate MacKinnon, the director—” he pauses when they start to applaud “—and this is our producer-slash-choreographer, Tyson Barrie.” More applause, and Barrie acknowledges them with a raised hand. “And we’d just like to thank you all for coming to see this… experience, that we put together for you.” 

“We’d call it a musical, but we really think it was so much more than that,” Barrie says, and everyone laughs, the cast included. 

“Yeah, whatever it was, it was definitely the culmination of months of hard work on the part of the most determined group of amateurs you’ve ever seen,” Nate says. “But we had a lot of fun making it, and we hope it was fun to watch, and I’d just like to give a special shoutout to our stage manager, if he’d like to skate forward.” 

Tyson wishes he could be annoyed at the callout, honestly, but he mostly can’t stop smiling. There’s a lot of adrenaline running through him, and his feet hurt like hell, and he just spent two hours onstage, which was terrifying and amazing and something he’d love to do every day for the rest of his life. 

“This guy,” Barrie says, patting him on the back in a way that sends him dangerously close to the edge of the stage. “This guy kept us all from dying, kept us on track, and was already the only reason this show was gonna happen, but then he also agreed to be an emergency backup understudy when we needed him most.” 

“So really, a round of applause for this beauty of a guy, the official  _ Xanadu _ MVP,” Nate says, and Tyson’s blushing as he does another awkward bow. The show hadn’t been perfect, but he hit the notes and only came close to falling a couple of times, and Mikko’s confidence on skates covered for him well enough. 

“When we’re not onstage, we’re a hockey team, so if you guys want to see more of our faces, you should come cheer us on,” Barrie adds. “Thank you so much, we’re gonna go get drunk and wonder why this just happened.” 

“Have a nice night, join us if you know who we are,” Nate says. 

…… 

The time between leaving the stage and stepping outside to get ready for the cast party passes in a little bit of a blur, because there’s champagne in the dressing room and a  _ lot  _ of very large, very emotional men. 

Tyson can deal with feelings. Hockey is filled with feelings, because tensions run high and competition is fierce, but this is different, because the overwhelming urge to celebrate doesn’t have the same kind of relief. When you’re excited over a win, it’s at least a little bit because you’re just happy to not have lost, but this— they’d be celebrating right now no matter what, because they did something, and it was kind of awesome. 

It’s just— almost sad, now that it’s over, and Tyson’s really glad the cast party is happening, because as long as there’s something to look forward to, he doesn’t have to think about the weird amount of free time he’s gonna have, and how he’s gonna maybe even miss this show. Sure, the music is bad, and the performance was probably terrible, but— 

It’s just. It’s been fun, being a part of it. 

But whatever. He’s not allowed to be sad until the cast party is over, and hopefully by that point he’ll be too drunk to remember that he’s gonna miss this. 

“Josty!” a voice calls, as Tyson’s stepping outside, and it’s a weird worlds-collide moment when he turns around and sees Dante, who’s holding a bouquet of flowers and looking incredibly smug. Tyson’s spent the last few weeks thinking about how terrible his beer league friends are, he almost forgot about his other terrible friends. His mistake. 

“What’re you doing here?” he says, walking over and silently bracing for the incoming barrage of chirps.

“Just figured I’d support my favorite roomie’s show,” Dante says. “Didn’t realize I’d get to see so much of your face. Or the rest of you, for that matter.”

“Ha ha,” Tyson deadpans. He nods at the flowers. “Those for me?”

“Obviously,” Dante says, handing them over. “I didn’t buy them myself, but some guy gave them to me and told me to make sure they found their way to the cast? He looked super familiar, but he left before I could figure out who he was.”

“I bet he got ‘em for the guy who was supposed to have this role,” Tyson says, examining the bouquet. It’s actually pretty nice; maybe Z will have a vase at his bar, and they can put the flowers out as party decorations. “That seems like the kind of thing that’d happen to him.”

“Maybe,” Dante says. “You deserve ‘em too, though. I haven’t heard you sing since our *NSYNC covering days.”

“Those days are the reason they asked me to understudy in the first place, by the way. It’s still on YouTube.”

“And this will be too, soon enough,” Dante says.

“Great,” Tyson says. “Maybe I should start putting together a reel.”

“You know, I think you have a future in this business,” Dante says.

“In community theater, maybe,” Tyson says. “I’m glad you had fun. I’d thank you for coming, but I didn’t invite you.”

“I don’t know why you didn’t,” Dante says.

He does know, and it’s because Tyson’s gonna be embarrassed about this whole thing eventually, but right now, he doesn’t really wanna get shit for this. He’s proud of this weird, dumb play, with rollerskates and short shorts and a cast devoid of any talent.

“Guess I knew you’d show up anyway,” he says. “You coming to the cast party?”

“Are you asking because you want me to come, or because you want a ride?” Dante asks. 

“Can’t it be both?”

Dante rolls his eyes. “I’ve got to be up early tomorrow, but I’ll drop you off. It sounds like you deserve a drink.”

“I knew there was a reason you were my favorite roommate,” Tyson says. 

“Yeah, well,” Dante says. “I’m still sending the video I got to everyone we know, so I figured it’s the least I could do.”

Tyson would honestly expect nothing less.

…… 

(“Yo,” Dante says, as Tyson’s getting out of the car. “That’s the guy.” 

“What guy?” 

“The one who had the flowers,” Dante says, nodding, and Tyson looks over at the guy in question, except all he sees is JT, standing out front and looking down at his phone. 

“I can’t see him,” Tyson says. “Is he short, or something? I think he might be behind a bush from my angle.” 

“What bush? He’s just standing right there, you can definitely see him.” 

Tyson looks again. “You mean JT?” 

“You know him?” Dante asks.

“Yeah,” Tyson says, not tearing his eyes off of JT, because now he’s thinking. “Huh.”)

……

Tyson doesn’t actually get a chance to talk to JT for a while, which he suspects is intentional, because he’s still carrying around the bouquet. But if JT thinks Tyson’s gonna put it down any time soon, he’s got another thing coming, and he apparently realizes this after about ten minutes, at which point Tyson’s all sweaty from hugging everyone, and has already done a shot. Like fuck was he gonna put down the flowers before getting to watch JT’s reaction, though, and he’s pleased when JT seems to accept this. 

“Hey there,” JT says. He nods at the bouquet. “Where’d you get those?” 

He sounds casual as anything, and to the untrained eye, it might be a totally innocuous question, but now that Tyson’s looking… he can see it, he thinks. The way JT’s squeezing his glass a little tighter, and his words are coming out the slightest bit faster, and the way his eyes keep flickering to things nonchalantly but lingering for a beat— he’s  _ nervous, _ unless every detective show Tyson’s ever watched was lying to him about how to read body language. 

“A buddy of mine found ‘em lying around on the ground,” Tyson says. It’s not even a lie. “Did you see the show?” 

“Of course,” JT says, looking mildly offended. “Someone had to make sure you didn’t skate into the front row.” 

“Are you proud that I didn’t?” 

“Very,” JT deadpans, but Tyson can see through the sarcasm, and lets himself feel pleased anyway.He’s vindicated when JT just shakes his head and half-heartedly tries to hide an extremely fond grin. 

…… 

The rest of the cast party passes in a blur, because Tyson lets himself get well and truly drunk with these people, because he just spent months yelling at them and loves them very much. 

First, he’s being hugged, and then he’s looking at JT, and then he’s looking for JT, and then he’s signing Gabe’s cast and taking a picture with him, and then he’s listening to Mikko and Barrie debate whether or not it’s possible to do body shots while on crutches, and then people are leaving, and then people are crying, and then people are singing— 

And suddenly, someone’s shaking him, and when he blinks his eyes open, he sees the beginnings of sunlight, salt and pepper shakers, and the collar of JT’s shirt. 

He groans, takes a second to gather his bearings; they’d gone from the bar to the one place in town that serves breakfast 24 hours a day, and he remembers stumbling in step with JT along the sidewalk, both of them laughing at something one of them had said, and he remembers someone turning around and yelling at them to stop flirting. He remembers thinking a lot about the things he’d like to say in response, and then saying none of them, instead explaining the waffle-pancake theory of hand-holding to JT with demonstration, and he remembers his eyes starting to droop before they even got to the diner. He remembers the rest of the night, too, and thankfully, he doesn’t remember anything too embarrassing, just fun and love and lots and lots of feelings.

“Did I sleep through breakfast?” he says. 

JT nods. “We all agreed you needed the rest,” he says. “You’ve had a busy few months.” 

“It’s over now, I guess,” Tyson says. There’s a sticker on his cheek, and he considers peeling it off, but he decides it’s not worth the effort, and he’s pretty sure it’s just one of the gold stars that Nate was putting on everyone last night anyway. “Everyone leave?” 

“I think some of the guys could still be waiting for cabs, if you wanna run get some final hugs in.” 

“Eh, I’ll seem ‘em soon,” Tyson says, sitting up a bit. He feels kind of ridiculous sitting in a quiet diner wearing this fucking costume, but he can’t bring himself to be embarrassed, because he’s tired and passed the point of dignity when he agreed to be a last minute understudy in a show put on by the least competent theater troupe imaginable.

It’s still a little weird to think he actually did that, but it’s even weirder to think about how much he’s gonna miss it. 

“Everything’s paid for,” JT says, as he gets up out of the booth so Tyson can do the same. “And that to-go cup is for you, if you want.” 

Tyson very much does want, so he grabs the cup and takes a very long sip as they make their way out of the restaurant. It’s pretty effective at distracting him from the way denim shorts feel once you’ve been wearing them for twelve hours, at least thirty minutes of which were spent sleeping while sitting upright. 

Thankfully, Tyson brought a hoodie, because it’s a little chilly, and also because he very much needs to stuff his free hand in his pocket. The world outside the diner feels too big and too quiet the second they step outside, and after Tyson’s life has been packed with so much  _ stuff,  _ it just doesn’t feel real when it’s suddenly still. He feels too emboldened, and he’s worried he’s gonna do something dumb, like grab JT’s hand, or wrap an arm around his waist. 

Which— he  _ wants  _ to, sure, but they should probably talk about things first. 

“The coffee’s helping,” Tyson says, as they walk down the sidewalk. He’s not even sure this is the direction he’s supposed to be going in; nominally, he’s heading home, but he’s pretty sure that’s not his primary goal right now. His tired and very hungover brain has its own agenda, apparently, and he really should figure out what that is soon, because it feels like he’s running out of time.  

“Good,” JT says. “Any big plans for the day? Or just sleep?” 

“Just sleep, and then back to the real world tomorrow,” Tyson says. “You?”

JT shrugs. “Same, more or less.” 

“Yeah,” Tyson says, kind of aimlessly. He bites his lip. “I— I’m really glad I did this show, I think.”

“Same here,” JT says, laughing a little, and suddenly, Tyson is thinking about the flowers, and also about how beautiful this sunrise is. 

“Can we— do you maybe wanna go skating again, sometime? Even though the show is over?” Tyson asks, and if he’s a little breathless, he can maybe blame it on the early morning air. 

JT gives him a bemused look. “Uh, sure?” 

“Cool,” Tyson says, and he’s gotta be running on pure adrenaline right now, because he’s, like, shaking. 

“Josty?” JT says, and that’s when Tyson realizes that he’s stopped in his tracks. 

“Sorry,” he says. “Just—” 

God, this is dumb. Every choice Tyson’s made in recent memory has been so fucking dumb, and he doesn’t regret anything about his stupid, stupid life. 

“Dude, are you okay?” JT asks, and— no, Tyson’s not okay, because he’s exhausted, and hungover, and sweaty and cold and uncomfortable and wearing last night’s clothing. His calves are sore, his throat is sore, his head is pounding, and none of that even matters, because the fact is, this moment is goddamn near perfect despite all of that, and the only reason he’s really, truly not okay is the fact that he’s got one hand in his pocket, and another clutching a styrofoam cup, and none on JT.

Instead of any of that, Tyson says, “Do you like the taste of coffee?” 

JT blinks, then shrugs. “I don’t mind it,” he says. “Why?” 

Tyson responds by kissing him, which is maybe not fair, because even if JT likes the taste of coffee, he might not be the biggest fan of hangover-breath with strong coffee overtones. But considering JT kisses him right back and sort of smiles against his mouth when he does it, Tyson figures that this was maybe the right call anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> a handy reference guide, copy/pasted from my whatsapp transcript:  
> [10:40 PM, 9/20/2018] Lotts: tyson b is the choreographer  
> [10:40 PM, 9/20/2018] Lotts: natemack is the director  
> [10:40 PM, 9/20/2018] Lotts: gabe is sonny  
> [10:40 PM, 9/20/2018] Lotts: mikko rantanen is kira  
> [10:40 PM, 9/20/2018] Lotts: tyjo is the sm  
> [10:41 PM, 9/20/2018] Ang: everything about this is inspired  
> [10:41 PM, 9/20/2018] Ang: mikko as kira, truly inspired  
> [10:41 PM, 9/20/2018] Lotts:   
> [10:41 PM, 9/20/2018] Lotts: this but gabe landeskog is VITALLY important  
> [10:40 PM, 9/20/2018] Lotts: jt compher is the rollerskating coach  
> [10:41 PM, 9/20/2018] Lotts: erik johnsson is the costume designer  
> [10:41 PM, 9/20/2018] Lotts: idk who else does what
> 
> lottswrites on tumblr!


End file.
